Teenage Heroine Queen
by Perzephone
Summary: I'M BACK. Meet Dante Corleone no, not the mobster . A young lady with no direction or path in life stumbles upon the world of Shinigami. Torn between drugs, love and duty, she finds herself becoming something new- but is it for the good? shuuheixOCxnova
1. NOTICE

Tonight, on a whim, I have decided to completely rewrite this series.

You will not be disappointed.

It will be improved, improvised, edited, added on to-- basically I'm taking it down and completely tearing it up. check back in a day and you'll have yourself a Stephen King/Sin City combination, in the world of Bleach.

Until then,

muah.

By the way, I am changing my username to "perzephone" so don't get confused


	2. Twilight Zone

**AUTHOR NOTE: This has been newly rewritten and revised. Enjoy! Give me some feedback! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own bleach, just Dante and her mum.**

--------- Chapter I

Drama has always been a part of my life.

Maybe I got dropped on my head when I was a baby. Maybe mom didn't breast-feed me. Maybe I was born with a dick in my brain, so I was fucked in the head to begin with. Mom was only fifteen when she had me, it wouldn't surprise me if she tried to kill me when I was still a bunch of cells fuming in her polluted womb. Dad-- well, I never really met him. Mom told me he was a worthless drunk crack dealer. I dimly remember a hairy face at one Christmas, but that's it. I don't care, it's always been just me and my mom, and I guess we bounced around a lot in America-- New York, Detroit, LA, Vegas, Sin City, Salt Lake City... when I was 11 mom's new boyfriend moved us out to Tokyo, Japan for his engineering job, and then there was a huge fight and they broke up, and by the time I was 12 mom was smoking weed with me and giving me cigarettes, when I was 14 I did my first rail of cocaine and when I was 16 I had did most of the drugs known to mankind, and a year before that I had tried heroin-- and I fell in love. Hard.

I spent most of my time with a needle sticking out of my arm and some gross dude's tongue slicking its way down my throat, and I just lay there and took it, but you couldn't call it rape because I enjoyed it, I was so super-fly I was fine with staring at the wall for six or seven hours, and pop me in the car and I'll vomit out the window at the passerbys, and no one cared because we were stoned, and that was the way it was. Mom pilfered money, got in trouble with the cops hooking and stealing, pawning shit that didn't belong to her. She got into counterfeit money business, and that kept a roof over our heads, nice clothes on our back and food at the table-- but mostly drugs in our purses. Mom and me had a lot of fun. She taught me how to shoplift and how to fix a busted stereo speaker with some duct tape and a coat hanger. She taught me how to reason with police and how to seduce someone to get what I want, but with the sweets come the sours.

I hated other kids my age, grew up pretty antisocial. I got in a lot of fights at school, puked a lot in the washroom because I was trying so damn hard to look perfect although there really wasn't anyone to look perfect for except myself. But this was the real life, and I would stare at myself every morning before anyone else was awake and stare at the thing in the reflection, and maybe if I could sum up the courage I would rake a razor across my legs or my stomach or my arm, but never close to that big pulsing purple vein because I was a pussy. Except when I was stoned. But when you're high, everything's fine. So I tried my best to be high all the time. It was good, for a long time-- I wasn't in school, I was sleeping all day in stranger's beds, partied all night, great times. I had friends that got me high for nothing, a mom that was worse then me.

We didn't have parental figures, in Japan, so in the slums we ran a little crazy. I got my ass kicked a lot, and I learned from it. I learned to take my beating like a man. I learned how to be a real person. I learned how to live. I think.

And then, we moved to Karakura.

"Gay." I stated, as I looked out the taxi window at the pretty motel in front of us. "I wanna go back home."

"C'mon, Dante. Quit bitching." Mom stuffed some crumpled bills into the cabby's hand, and I dragged my suitcase out behind me, stepping onto the concrete. It smelled nice and fresh outside. I lit a cigarette. Mom was wrestling her bags out of the trunk and I went over and helped her, grunting with the exertion. "I'm sure we'll get used to it." But not even she looked pretty sure. The cabby took off and I sat down and smoked on the grass while mom went inside to get the keys to our room. I had never stayed in suburbs before. All the houses were white, square and tall. The sky was crisp and clear and blue, and generally nice people were walking up and down nice sidewalks with nice little dogs and nice little fucking carriages.

_Balls_, I thought, folding my legs under me and looking at my right hand. It was shaking badly. I clenched it tightly and felt the knuckles tense in pain, and I flinched at the feeling of my bones caving in. I stretched my hand out and heard the cracks. They were also sweating a lot. Like, a lot a lot, like I was on extasy or something. I licked my lips. They were dry. My mouth tasted like shit. The grass felt too prickly, looked too green, smelled to much like lawn-mowers and happy-go-lucky bugs that frollick in the grass. I felt the trickles of discomfort in my spine. The roar of blood in my ears, the click of my throat as I swallowed. I raked my fingers through my greasy, thin hair, that desperately needed a wash. I stank like sweat, puke and cigarettes, and lighter fluid. My clothes were dirty and my shoes had dog shit and probably my own shit smeared on the bottom of them. I bet you thought drug addiction was so glamorous, right.

Where was the heroin?

Mom barked for me to get inside, that I looked like some bum waiting to get picked up. I crushed out my cigarette and hauled my bags inside. The ceiling fan hummed busily above my head, sucking up mom's cigarette smoke while she stuffed some clothes into her drawers. There were two beds, both looking suspiciously caved in and I doubted either of us would be sleeping much in them. I tossed my suitcase onto the bed and sat down. It was relatively hard. I kicked off my shoes and stretched out my dirty, bare feet. God, I really needed a wash.

"Mum,"

"What?"

"Roll a joint?" She turned to look at me, brow raised.

"Don't tell me you smoked all your fucking pot already." she said, annoyed. I shrugged. "Damn, Dante, you got a drug problem." She tossed me a bag of green and Zig Zags, and I lay down on the bed and began to roll, ignoring her as she fussed. "Where are those papers?"

"Over here."

"Not those ones! The one with Eli's number on it." Oh yeah, "Uncle" Eli. Eli was the one who hooked us up with a small house here, right smack in the middle of Karakura, and mom a little job as a waitress. He was working on getting one for me, too. I had some job experience, mostly waitressing. I liked the fancy restaurants. I liked looking at expensive dresses and high heels and pretty make up and gorgeous hair, and imagine that one day I was going to look like that-- presuming I made it to 18 years of age. I checked my cell phone. I was waiting on Yumiko to answer-- he had smack hook ups down here. There were apparently 4 dealers in this little shit-splat town, but only one sold the heavy stuff. Yumiko better answer soon. Or there will be blood. Probably mine.

I sealed the joint and me and mom sat by the screen window, talking and smoking for a little while. I could tell mom was nervous by the way she kept wiping her hands on her pantyhose. She was wearing a little plaid skirt and a heavy sweater. Summer was closing to an end and I would be enrolled in school-- although I never really stayed in school for long. I would have this idea that I would do amazingly well but then drop out after two weeks, just kind of lag off and stop going to classes, come late, lip off, and then just say fuck it and end up dropping it altogether. Fuck school. We don't need no education, haha. After the joint I was stoned and mom went to take a nap, and I ran myself a hot bath.

You see, in order to enjoy a hot bath you need to make it absolutely scaldingly hot, so hot you can barely stick your toe in, and then slowly, slowly, slide yourself in and let all that tension roll off you. I wiped the steam off the mirror and checked myself out. Whatever part of the skin that wasn't all bruised up and pockmarked and scarred was really pale, and it kind of stuck to my skeleton, like some gross yellow film. I didn't really have the most impressive tits, but at least they were there! But they were definately not attractive, pretty pathetic, but that's what drugs will do to ya. I had no ass, but I never really did. I hopped in the tub and groaned out loud. I lit a cigarette. Me and mom smoked a lot. It made my voice really deep and raspy and I sounded like I had some sort of throat cancer, and I haven't been able to inhale a full breath in like, eight months, but I didn't give a shit if I had lung cancer.

I watched the smoke curl out of my mouth and twist itself into shapes not meant to be. They were mystic, if deadly. I scrubbed myself clean after I sat for about twenty minutes, washed my hair with the little packaged shampoos offered. After I smelled like sweet lime and jasmine, I shaved my legs and whatever else, emptied the tub, and got into some fresh clothes. My favourite pyjama bottoms, with little Casper the Friendly Ghost's all over it, and a black hoodie. I took mom's hair dryer from her bag, blow-dryed it nice and straight, and trimmed it a little with my rez-slicked scissors. They were sticky but it hadn't occured to me to clean them. My hair was dyed black, the blonde roots starting to show. I was thinking of bleaching it silver-blonde soon, the same shade as my mom's. It had two choppy green streaks through it, to shock and offend. I trimmed my nails, plucked my eyebrows and upper lip, all that girly stuff. Then, I put on all my make up, wrote mom a fast note saying I was going to explore Karakura. It would be better then wilting in this over-heated motel room that stank like deodorant and dust bunnies.

I grabbed my purse, put on my shoes and sunglasses, and walked into the air-conditioned hallway. I stole some hand-sanitizer from the cleaning cart stationed outside a vacant room, the droning sound of a vacuum meeting my ears. I stepped outside into the sun, immediately feeling it warm my back and headed to the right, cutting across the lawn and into the town, where it came to life-- sorta. It was nothing like Tokyo, or Vegas, but it was a little... peaceful. Not much really to show, though-- an ancient movie theatre, an arcade and pool hall, a mall, a strip mall, a bunch of restaurants, gas stations, a hospital, the police station... within the hour I had wondered across the town, and ended up "downtown" the one block of skyscrapers looming above me. I turned down Kiyoki Avenue and came upon a wide park, with a large sparkling fountain, two fish and one angel frozen forever in marble, spouting water from mouths and hands.

There was a massive sakura tree, a few pink petals dotting the ground as late summer transformed into fall. A cold wind ripped across, and women wrapped scarves around their necks and snuggled into their men, pushing strollers. Children played on the swings, slide and sandbox, at the jungle gym, and I sat down on a bench with an uncomfortable sigh, shifting a million times until I was comfortable. I felt my phone vibrate after a few minutes. I had been staring up at the sun through my sunglasses, feeling those tides of discomfort and want roll over my body in waves. My palms were so slippery that the phone got a little greasy. Yumiko had texted me a big-ass message.

_Call Okita. # 452 564 4456. Tell her I referred you. Ask her for horse. Don't be shy, I told her u would be callin her. how you doin girl? _My heart _soared_. I sat up immediately, texting him a fast 'good' and then dialling the number. Maybe the average person would be nervous immediately calling a heroin dealer, but drug came before emotion and comfort, now. The dial rang and rang, and on the fourth ring it picked up. A high, nasal voice came up on the other line.

_"Hullo."_

"Hey. Can I talk to Okita, please?"

_"Depends who's asking."_

"Dante. Yumiko told me you would be expecting my call." Silence for a moment, and then a long sigh.

"_Oh yeah. Whatcha' need?"_

"Um, horse."

_"How much?"_

"Four."

_"Wanna deal? One hundred fifty for five." _I bit my lip, checked my wallet. I had two hundred in funny money, stolen money, money left over from my previous job, in crisp bills itching to be spent.

"Sure."

_"Put in an extra 10, clean syringe and tubing."_

"Ok. Where you wanna meet?"

"_You know that arcade?" _Yes, I did. _"Meet me there in half an hour."_

I practically ran there. I got there in fifteen minutes, waited impatiently, smoking cigarette after cigarette, my thoughts all jumbled up and confused. I couldn't get my head straight, all I could think of was that lovely high that I would be gifted with in moments. Twenty minutes later a tall, thin redhead walked in. She was wearing a white shirt and jeans and heavy boots, a backpack hanging off one shoulder. We looked at each other.

"...Dante?" she asked, hesitating.

"Yeah. Okita?" she nodded, and beckoned me outside. We went into the back lane next to it, and in the dark the exchange was made. I also bought some weed off her, just for the hell of it. After we parted ways, I went back to the motel, happy that I had made a new friend already. I could tell me and Okita were going to be great friends. She was at least 20, so I could totally get her to buy me liquor-- vodka. Hell yeah. I practically skipped back, and did so quickly. Mom was rattling around near the coffee maker, and looked up when I clattered in. There were huge shadows under her muddy brown eyes. She raised a thin, artificial brow.

"Where you been?" she asked.

"Around. Need the washroom?"

"No. Already used it." I stood in the doorway for a moment, leaning against the door. Mom poured herself some coffee in a paper cup, sipped it, and made a face. "God, this coffee blows." She dumped the whole thing into the sink, where it sloshed and steamed. "I gotta go uptown. See Eli. You'll be okay here by yourself?" I knew what she meant. She was going to go see Eli, disappear for 10 hours, come stumbling back piss drunk or cracked out, clothes torn, piss soaking through the front of her pants, puke crusting on the shirt, blood dry on her mouth.

"Ok." she waved me aside, slid on her ridiculously high pumps. She had changed into a micro-mini and halter, her hair teased up in a high ponytail. I could see the silver a lot now. Lines creased her eyes and lips. Her breasts were starting to sag. I guess time stopped for no one. I waved her good-bye, took her little portable CD player and her Pink Floyd CD, and locked myself in the washroom, turning off my cell phone. I got out of my pants and changed into a black t shirt that was too small for me. I turned on the music, some insence from my purse, set the mood. I cooked the heroin, which looked and smelled good. Very good. The needle slurped it up. I t-eed off, leaned against the tub, and slid the needle into my pulsing, tracked vein. I pushed down on the plunger.

Holy.

God.

That insane, mind-blowing euphoria overcame me. The needle slipped out of my fingers as I fought for those first two minutes of control, and then after the rush passed I let myself slip in. My head fell back, my neck creaking, my mouth opening slowly as my eyes slowly closed, until they remained just a crack. I remembered to look away from the light, because I would go blind, because I would stare at it for hours. I counted the tiles, over and over. Twenty three. Twenty Three. _Twenty Three. _The drip of water in the sink. _Drip. Drip. Drip_. My breath was loud and roaring. I could hear everything in my body, every beat of my heart. Finally, my hands were no longer shaking. I could relax. Finally, my body wasn't tensed and the feeling of bugs streaking and crawling under my skin faded. I was in heaven.

I woke up several hours later, with a start. I sat up immediately, and immediately regretted it. A sharp pain shot through my skull. I had passed out on the bathroom floor. I had no idea what time it was. I waited for a moment, until the world was no longer fuzzy, grabbed my phone and with shaking fingers, turned it on. It was four in the morning. When had I shot up? Seven pm? So I had been asleep for almost seven hours, not including the two where I had tripped out. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped my phone and it clattered to the floor. The sound sent me reeling, and I puked in the toilet a few times. I scrambled to flush it, because the smell was overpowering. I lay down until the world stopped spinning, and then sat up and adjusted my thigh-high, pink and black stockings. I pulled my pants back on and rolled a joint on the floor, and dragged myself out of the washroom.

Mom was asleep on the bed. Her shirt was gone, and there was a bruise swelling on her left eye. God, even in this nice, decent little town, she had managed to get knocked out by some asshole. She reeked of booze and yep, she had pissed herself again. I pulled the twisted blankets over her, and with some difficulty turned her onto her stomach so she wouldn't choke on her vomit in the morning. I almost tripped on her high heels, spread out on the floor. One was broken. I put them on the bed and lay on my own bed, and smoked this joint, and after I was very high again I felt much better, and changed into different clothes. Grey jeans an off-shoulder black shirt and a silver, chain belt that was nice and thin and classy. I decided I would go for a nice, long, four AM walk.

I walked slowly. The town was dead, except for the occasional dog barking in some yard, and every once and a while a car would drive by, probably some dude who had to go too work mega-early. The bar was even closed. One bum lay against its wall, booze trickling from the bottle at his limp hand. I scooped it up quickly and downed a shot of it. Pure whiskey. I tossed it back at him and left the alley, wiping my mouth. Maybe it would have grossed anyone else out, but that shot did me good and I could walk straighter. I slid on my sweater, which had been tied around my waist. Damn, it was cold. I pulled my shirt down so the black part covered my ass and hips, because I felt weird wearing so much white. I smoked a cigarette. A cop car cruised past me. I felt that tightening in my stomach. I hadn't taken out that heroin, and if the cop decided to search me, I would be _busted_. But he didn't stop, he turned the corner, and that was damn good, because a little incident happened.

A mangy brown dog shot out of an alley and slammed right into me, tripping me up and I landed hard on my face. The dog yelped, and as it did something flew from its mouth and next to me. I grabbed it and hucked it at it as it scampered off, howling. "_Fucking mutt!" _I yelled at it, getting to my feet, brushing myself off. My clothes were probably all dirty. I glared at it, and then looked down at what it had been running with. It was a little turtle plushie. I walked over and picked it up. It's little black eyes stared at me, lifelessly. I squeezed it. It was a little wet from being in the dog's teeth.

"_HEY!_" A voice yelled, from the direction where the dog had come from. "_GET BACK HERE!" _I got the hell out of there, shrinking away quietly across the street and into the pitch-black lane, moving quietly, holding the plushie. I did not want to deal with any guy looking for his dog. I was annoyed and tired now, I was regretting my desicion too walk. At least I had a little thing to keep me company. I went down to the park and sat on a bench under a streetlight, and in the calm yellow light I cleaned up the plushie the best I could, and decided I would take him home. I used to have one like it when I was little. Don't know what happened to it. Around six, I went home. Mom was in the washroom. The water was running and the light was on. I knocked on the door, frowning.

"Mum?"

The door ripped open and my mom was standing there, bloodshot eyes ablaze.

_"Bitch._" she snapped, and _wham! _She punched me in the head. I shrieked in surprise and went flying back against the wall. She came back at me, a huge cracked out beast from Hell, and I braced myself and kicked her hard in the stomach. She let out a small _oof! _and went flying back into the bathroom.

"What the FUCK?" I screamed, kicking the door open as it was beginning to swing shut on me. "What'choo on, mom!"

"Just leave me alone, Dante. I'm sorry. Just leave me alone." she slid down to the floor, weeping. Snot rolled down her upper lip and into her mouth, and she blubbered, pathetically. She was out of her head. I did as she asked, but removed all the towels and sharp objects I could find. Couldn't really do much for the mirror, but I would hear it breaking if she got any funny ideas. I fell asleep on my bed and curled around the stuffed animal. It gave me a little bit of comfort, and something to hold onto helped steady the rapid beating of my heart. Mom sometimes hit me, but the way she lived her life I'm lucky she didn't try to beat the shit out of me. I loved my mom, and I knew she loved me-- hell, sometimes it was me who just randomly started beating on her. And I never apologized, and didn't stop until I got tired. Those were Bad Days, and the Bad Days were some things I would love to forget.

I slept hard.

Welcome to my life.


	3. Shook Ones

**A/U: To set the mood, listen to these songs: **

**Juicy- biggie smalls**

**Shook Ones- Mobb Deep**

**Learning to Fly- Pink Floyd**

**enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, its plot, characters, etc., just Dante.**

----- Chapter II: Shook Ones

We moved into the house today.

It was small and shitty, right next to a huge apartment building. We had taken a cab there. Mom was really hung over and wouldn't tell me what had happened. Like I could care. I had been up at 7, had curled my hair so it was all in ringlets, held together with a lot of hairspray. I yawned a lot in the backseat, and in the 10 minutes of driving we parked. The house was small, green, and looked cozy. We got out, grabbed our bags. In the driveway was a blue Honda, and out came a tall, fat guy with long blonde hair and a huge, fuzzy beard.

"Lee!" He yelled, opening his huge, tattooed arms. Mum flew into them.

"Eli! How are you? Dante, come see Eli!" I came over, and he shook my hand, his huge one swallowing mine.

"Christ, she looks just like her dad, don't she?" Mom grinned and I shrugged.

"That's what they say." he patted my shoulder.

"You look like a good kid. Why don't you run inside and explore?" I guess family will always treat you like you're six. I dragged my suitcase in, and found my room. It was small with a window. At least it had a carpet. Home. It smelled like sawdust. I sat on my suitcase and listened to mum and Eli move into the kitchen, clattering and talking. Then, after a few minutes, mum called me down because Eli's friends were here to bring us some furniture-- a table, a stove, a fridge, two mattresses, some blankets and two pillows. A small dresser for me. I asked Eli where they got all this stuff, as we took a break to smoke cigarettes.

"Your mum's important to me, honey." Eli said, looking out of place in the bright morning sunlight. "We've all known her for a while. We got together a bunch of shit for you guys-- pardon my language-- and although most of it is crap, it's livable. Just make sure your mum keeps her job, eh?" I nodded. We went back to work. It took all day, and by the end of it, me and mum were exhausted and I took a short nap, and mom came in to talk to me about school.

"What's that?" she asked, sitting down on the side of my bed and pointing at the turtle. I had been lying on it, and it was crushed into the sheets.

"Found it last night."

"You start school next Monday."

"Great."

"Try to stay in it."

"I will."

"I'm going out for a bit."

"Don't punch me later, then." she rolled her eyes, pecked me on the cheek, and she got all dolled up and left for the night. I shot up on the bed.

I put the doll in front of me, and it sat there, slumping over lifelessly. As dusk turned to twilight, my eyes hooded closed. I was crying, but only a little. I cried sometimes. I don't know why, it just felt better to cry, then to go and cut yourself up. The doll's little bead eyes were a little strange-- they seemed to spark a little bit, as if there was something behind the marble. I must have been really stoned. I spread my legs out, listening to the bones and joints creak. "Whatcha lookin' at." I whispered, staring it down. It just stared back. "Ick." I lay back on the pillow, which smelled like dust and probably needed a wash. I put the pillow over my head and held it down, suffocating in the darkness. The dark was nice. My cellphone went off next to my hip. It rang three times and I answered, my movements heavy and slow.

"Hullo."

_"Dante._" It was Okita. "_It's Okita. What are you doing tonight? You need anything?"_

"No. I'm not doing anything."

"_Come over. I'm bored." _Okita laughed. It was a shaky, un-funny sound. I sat up slowly, feeling like I was rising from an ocean of black tar. I shook myself.

"Ok. Where do you live?"

"_Ok. You know those apartment buildings above the movie theatre? The one with the big window that sticks out?" _

"Yea." I had passed it once or twice yesterday, walking to and from the motel. It was about twenty minutes away from the arcade. I glanced at the time. It was almost nine o clock, and it was dark out, beyond the window. "Want me to go there?"

"_Yeah. Just go up the stairs, down the hall. It's number 8. Just walk right in, I'm not expecting anybody."_

_"_Ok. See you in a bit." I hung up the phone, shook myself, pinched myself until I could walk. Even then, I hit one the ground on one knee as soon as I stood up straight. I grunted, but didn't feel anything. I changed into some nice clothes-- purple shirt with a cowbell neck and tight, elbow-length sleeves, plaid black skirt and tights, stole mom's fancy black pumps. I washed my hair fast and straightened it, doing a nice turn-over. I did my makeup-- white eyeshadow, thick mascara, eyeliner. I put on hoop earrings and bracelets. Hell, just 'cause I was a junkie didn't mean I couldn't go out in style. I grabbed my purse, keys and cigarettes, taking mom's mickey of rum from her case, my bejewelled, cracking black nails clinking on the plastic-glass. I paused for a moment, before turning off the light, swaying for a moment. God, I loved being stoned. I was looking at the turtle. It was looking at me-- no, they can't look at you, they're fucking fake-- but still. I picked it up and dropped it into my purse, and then went out the door.

It was nice outside, and I inhaled deeply. I lit a cigarette and walked, swaying a little, since I wasn't really used to walking in heels on heroin. Half an hour later I was in the middle of Karakura. It was a little bit alive. There were a few groups of teenagers walking around, grouped together tightly and laughing and chatting, hanging out in the arcade and mall, all of them with cute boys and girls that wouldn't be going home, they all had 10 o clock curfews and they were all good little kids who would get up early on Monday morning, eat a healthy breakfast and go to school, like I would be doing. Except, I doubted I would be eating a healthy breakfast. Or maybe I would get up early, make myself some chocolate-chip pancakes and fresh orange juice, and sit in the kitchen under the morning sunlight and try to feel something, instead of nothing at all.

I came to the theatre, entered the side door. On the other side of the thin wall I could hear the picture playing. It sounded like an action flick, the way the entire stairwell shook and roared. It felt pretty cool, and I walked up slowly, my heels echoing off the walls. I came to the hallway, walking across the thin floor, which felt like it was made of thin sheet metal and it would collapse if the wrong weight stepped in the wrong place. The overhead light flickered and there were a few cracks in the walls, and there was a dark shape huddled in the far end. Maybe Karakura wasn't so clean and pure after all. I knocked on number _8_, and then stepped inside.

My first impression was impressed. It was brightly lit with overhead lights. There were a lot of candles and holders on the shelves, but none were lit but looked well-used. A clever yin-yang table rested in the middle, with black couches surrounding it. A smoking bong rested on said table, with several ashtrays. Okita was sitting cross-legged on one of the low-rise couches, smoking a roach with a clip and picking through the newspaper, half-moon eyeglasses perched daintily on her nose. She looked at me and smiled. I shut the door. Okita was wearing black sweats and a rumpled Marilyn Manson shirt, a bandanna holding her red hair back.

"Hey. Welcome." she beckoned me over. "Are your shoes clean?" I checked them. She had a very clean white carpet. "Take 'em off anyways." I did, leaving them next to the whit _Etnies_. There were a few pairs of sandals, a couple rumpled jackets and some combat boots. I walked over, the carpet fuzzy and cool underneath my feet. "How you doing, girl?" she shook my hand, formally. Her eyes were very red and slitted.

"I'm good." I sank down into the loveseat. Incense was burning in the holder. "I brought some rum." Her eyes sparked.

"Mmm! Pass that up!" She got up and teetered over to the kitchen. From here I could see how emanciated the girl was, her tits sagging low, even though she couldn't be a few years older then me. She came back with two shot glasses and a bottle of spiced rum. She poured us shots, fired up two cigarettes and gave one to me. "So, Yumiko says you moved here from Japan. Why?"

"Mom wanted to get out of the big city. Thought it was ruining me."

"Did it?"

"Yeah." We were quiet for a moment, and then she laughed.

"Shit. Well, you're alive, that's all that counts. Unless you're one of those suicidal junkies." I shook my head. Although it might have been a lie. I'm not even sure. "You can shoot up here, if ya want. Wait, actually, no. Not here. I have too much to lose." I shrugged and said it was okay. I was strangely comfortable here. "Are you old enough to go to the bar?" I shook my head. "Damn. Well, you wanna go down to the arcade and find some dopers? I'm strapped for cash. By midnight we can have a party." I perked up at that idea.

"Sure. Let's do it."

"You cool with helping me deal?" I nodded. "Kay. If you do good, maybe you can help me." I chuckled a little nervously.

"I do need some money."

"Well, let me get all dressed up. Feel free to look around, yeah?" she got up and walked down a hallway and I heard a door shut. I picked up my drink and looked around at her walls. She had ancient posters of Sid Vicious, Biggie, Tupac, the Beatles, Chopin, Tchaivosky. She had imitation Van Goghs and Picassos, a fake Jackson Pollock, still impressive all the same. I checked through her CD collection. The Doors, Pink Floyd, Creedence-- God, this woman looked to some ancient stuff! But I liked it. I really did. Better then the techno crap they played these days, and the wannabe Nirvana whiner-rock, and the worthless EMO shit. According to the tickets tacked up on the walls next to the mirror above the stereo system she had seen Iron Maiden, Pantera, Metallica, Eminem, Rob Zombie, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and more, all live, in the past ten years. I assumed she was around 25.

I was pouring myself a new drink when she came back. She looked very nice, in a push-up bra that made her breasts look very good, an off-shoulder white blouse and black skinny jeans, knee-high boots and perfect hair and make up. I blinked, stunned. "I thought since you were all dressed up, I would do the same. Be all classy tonight."

"Ok. You look great."

"So do you." I got on my shoes and we left, she locked the door and we strolled back into late-night Karakura, talking. Okita reminded me of a lot of girls I used to know. Her parents were non-existant. Her brother was in the army, her sister was dead. She had run away when she was 16, hadn't looked back since. She knew her shit and she was one of those girls you could look up too, to point you in the right direction, even if there was a needle in her fingers and the right direction was straight into your arm.

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We smoked a few joints and I showed her the turtle. "_Aww._ It's so cute." she hung it by its arms and made it do a little jig in the air, and we laughed. She perched it on my shoulder and there it stayed, half hidden by my curtain of curled hair. We went down to the arcade, around the back of it. There, was a small huddle of four or five teenagers. A guy with messy grey hair looked up, quickly hiding the little pipe they had been passing around. He relaxed when he saw Okita.

"Hey, 'Kita, what's up?" he asked. His friends, two guys and one girl, were quiet, just watching, stoned.

"Nothin'. You need anything? I got some of that stuff you wanted to try?"

"Coke?" the girl blurted. Okita looked at her, nastily.

"Uh, no. Who the fuck are you?"

"..." The girl looked at her friends, who looked at the ground.

"That's Kira. Um, so you got it?"

"Yeah. Fifty bucks." he stood up and me and Okita took him a few feet away. The kid passed over the rumpled bills and Okita put a small dime bag of heroin into his sweaty palm. "Have fun." she said, giving the kid a small push back to his friends. "C'mon." Okita tugged on my sleeve. I took one last look at those kids, who couldn't have been older then me. They were all huddled around him, looking excited.

"It's cut with baking powder."

"Oh. Why?"

"I only sell pure shit to people who I like. I didn't cut your shit. Yumiko said you were a good friend." I nodded.

"Yeah. I could tell it wasn't cut."

"Yep, pure Asian. C'mon, we got a few more stops."

All over Karakura, we went. I discovered that Karakura wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, like I had first thought. Things definately weren't as bad as Japan had been-- Karakura made a point to hide its addicts and kept everything behind locked doors. I guess small towns had a lot of skeletons in their closets. I just became one of them. So had my mom. Okita had been one for a long time. It was us against the world. I saw things that would have surprised or horrified others, but I was starting to feel at home in these back lanes. On the jungle gym at the park, hobos and junkies populated it, and I wondered if mommies and daddies knew what kind of populace shit and pissed on the same place where their children played. The hypocrisy of it all was horrifyingly funny.

Around one, Okita was tired and burnt out, and so was I. She had made almost two fifty tonight, and she gave me eighty dollars, for my help. She walked me home, came in for a coffee. We were sitting on my bed playing cards, just talking. I had fun tonight, a lot of fun, and Okita was happy about that.

"Good. You look like a miserable bitch." I had laughed. She had said goodnight, good luck at school on Monday, and I didn't see her for two days. I curled up in bed with the turtle and slept well.

School started faster then I had expected it too.

Here we go.

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**I'm trying not to make her mary-sueish **


	4. Slipped

Of course, school began with a bang.

I woke up to mom hammering on the door, bellowing that I was going to be late if I didn't get up. I sat up immediately, my eyes taking a moment to get themselves into focus. The turtle plushie was crooked in my elbow. I looked down at it. What a cutie, it was. Definately the most adorable plushie I had ever seen. I got out of bed and slid into the kitchen, and to my surprise a glass of cold milk, with beads of perspiration rolling down the crystal glass, accompanied by a steaming mug of coffee, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes on my spot. I looked at mom, who was hungover, and smiling tiredly, and I smiled right back.

"Oh mom, you didn't have too."

"Yeah, well, I figured my baby should get a good breakfast for her first day of school. You're in grade 12 now. Last year. Try to make it, honey." she pecked my forehead and I sat down, and ate. I had been drunk last night with Okita, and had come home around two, and although I knew I was going to vomit every bit of this delicious breakfast in the toilet I enjoyed it for now. It was very good, although my stomach rolled and flipped, and I forced every bite into my mouth. After, I said thank you at least four times, and then went to the washroom and puked. Mom probably didn't notice. I felt terrible, because she had sweated over it probably, and the pancakes had been a little rubbery and the coffee a little bitter (She never really understood that two teaspoons of sugar was what I took with it), but I was a creature of habit.

After, I washed out my mouth, brushed my teeth until they were "dentist-clean", straightened my hair until it was pin-straight, and put on the school uniform. I hadn't tried it on, or even looked at it, but I wasn't impressed. I scrapped the blazer as it was an unseasonably warm autumn day. I did my make up, put on some jewellery to distract from the plainness, and grabbed my purse and notebook and stepped outside. Mom was lacing her boots up.

"Where you going?"

"Driving you to school."

"I thought I was going to take the bus-- wait, with what car, too?" Mom hesitated, stood up, and cracked her collarbone.

"No questions, baby. C'mon. Unless I'm not cool enough to drive you to school." The look in her bloodshot eyes gave me a warning and I shrugged, put on my sunglasses and followed her out. She frowned at me. "God, that skirt is a little short."

"Nothing you haven't worn before." she smacked me upside the head. "Hey!"

"Don't lip off to your mother. At least I do it tastefully." A black station-wagon was sitting in the driveway. I wanted to ask mom where she got it, but figured it was not the best. She would have told me if she had wanted too, and if there was one thing I learned it was not to push what was supposed to stay put.

Mom pulled to a stop in front of Karakura high, which was a large, industrial building. There were quite a few students standing and talking outside, laughing and chatting with faces that they hadn't seen since before the summer, old friends and new friends, and then me, new and alone. The bell rang while I was still in the car.

"Have fun. And stay in class." Mom warned, and I nodded, said good-bye, and got out of the car and walked towards the school. Butterflies pulsed in my stomach. I was nervous, but wouldn't anyone be? I should have got high before I came. I would go find a quiet place to smoke... no, not a good idea. I had a quick cigarette before I entered the gates, and then walked into the school and entered the push-and-shove world of high school, a strange place to me. Strange elbows and unfamiliar voices overwhelmed me and I pursed my lips. I _hated _crowds. I could only stand them when I wasn't sober. Which I was, and my stomach was starting to clench and my palms were starting to secrete sweat so much I had to wipe them on my skirt repeatedly.

I looked at my schedule, which had been mailed to our house yesterday, along with the uniform. According to it, I had math class first thing, room 121B. It was on the first hallway. Following the directions, I stepped into the warm classroom. Several students were already seated down, other kids standing around, talking and chattering. A heavy-set, balding teacher was sitting at his heavy oak desk, tapping away on a laptop. The fresh smell of chalk dust, school books and sneakers filled my nose and I squirmed uncomfortably, the atmosphere too bright and sunny for me. I thought that maybe someone should shut the blinds a little, because the sunlight was scorching my eyes.

I looked at the seating plan scrawled on the board. Apparently, I sat in the second last row, inbetween a Kurosaki Ichigo and Abarai Renji. There was my name, so American-Italian amongst the others-- Dante Corleone-- no one would have trouble figuring out I was a foreigner, here. I sat down in the seat, immediately irked by the uncomfortable plastic and wood poking into my ass. I placed my purse on the desk and opened my notebook, removed the new blue pen from the coil, and scrawled _consumer mathematics_ on the first fresh page. I loved writing on the first, fresh page. It felt like taking its virginity. Weird, but satisfying. A few minutes later the second bell rang and the rest of the students filed in like a riot.

An orange haired boy, tall and cute, sat down next to me. He had a scowl on his face. Obviously I wasn't the only one excited to be here. A guy with his red hair tied up in a ponytail, sat down on the other side of me. He had a few interesting-looking tattoos scrawled up and down his arms and the side of his neck, and expensive looking sunglasses perched on his forehead. God, I'm stuck between two total douche-bags, for the rest of the semester. I put my head down.

"Hello, class!" The elderly, balding teacher said at the front. The class grumbled back, and lapsed into silence. "How was your summer?" Assorted grunts. "Oh. Well mine was terrific. Now, we have new faces in here, so I want everyone to stand up one at a time, state your name, age, and something interesting. Ya know the drill."

The kids stood up one by one and did so, until the orange-haired kid stood up next to me. He let out an irritated sigh before doing so.

"My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm seventeen years old. I like Shakespeare." One collected snicker. I thought it was kind of cool. I had read Shakespeare's Macbeth and thought it was pretty cool, I had read it when I had smoked a few joints with my mom and she had told me to read it. Hard to understand, but eery all the same. I stood up after he sat down.

"Dante Corleone. I'm seventeen, and I like long walks at night." I sat down.

"Corleone?" The teacher piped up. I nodded. "Are you Italian?"

"Well..." All eyes on me. I squirmed uncomfortably. "Sort of. Half. I think. I'm not sure."

"Oh. Well we'll have to look into that. Next!"

"Abarai Renji. I'm, uh-- nineteen years old. I _also _like long walks at night." he looked pointedly at me and I looked away. Renji sat down, all smug like. Up and down the rows we went, although I had pretty much forgotten everybody's names.

"Alright. I'm Mr Kuji, welcome to grade 12 consumer mathematics. Now, I'll pass around your textbooks..."

About half an hour of note-taking, I stuck up my hand. I was shaking and felt extremely sick. It felt like I had to take a massive shit, or I had killer cramps. I knew what it was though-- withdrawals hit me hard, and they would hit any drug addict like a freight train when forced to sit in a stifling math class with a bunch of arrogant strangers while suffering from a hangover.

"Yes, Corleone?"

"Can I go to the washroom?"

"Sure. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." I picked up my bag and walked out of class, going slowly and with composure. I started walking fast down the hallway, jerkily. It felt like a million little insects were pulsing in my skin. My gorge rised, even though I had nothing to throw up. I burst into the washroom, which was thankfully empty, banged into a stall, and vomited into the toilet. Streams of clear, white liquid slopped everywhere, toilet water bouncing back into my face. I moaned softly, my flesh burning like fire. I rested my chin on the lip of the toilet, listening to my blood roar in my ears and behind my eyes, and the eternal twitch and scream in my brain for that long, sharp needle and everything and anything inbetween and after.

I opened my bag with shaking fingers. The plushie was in it. I was surprised, for a moment. When the hell had I put it in there? Whatever, I probably hadn't noticed. I had started carrying that thing around with me everywhere, holding it to me when I was high and sleeping curled up around it. I pushed it aside and dug around at the bottom, and pulled out a prescription bottle with the paper scratched off. Inside was a rainbow of purple, blue, green and white pills; valium, xanax, prozac, zipoclone, vicoden, all the powerful trainquilizers that could stun the average, healthy horse. I popped two valium and waited until it washed over me, then I took a zipoclone and I lurched out of the stall, stoned, and feeling much better.

I floated into the classroom, sat down in my seat, and I wrote down the notes, high as a kite. Love it. Pills were like heroin you could swallow. I even had the tiny, barely noticable doped out smile. After class, I walked into the hallway and checked my schedule.

Oops. I guess the zipoclone was double-stacked. I fell over.

"Whoa!" Someone caught me, and we tumbled to the ground, because when a stoned person falls over, even if they weigh next to nothing, it's like trying to catch a six foot sack of raging potatoes.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" I stumbled to my feet and lurched around. The redhead guy was getting back on his feet-- what was his name? Renji? I grabbed his wrist and hauled him up the rest of the way. "I must have. Tripped. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, lady. I didn't mind."

"I-- oh. Haha." Good thing I was stoned out of my tree. I saw a teacher looking at me suspiciously and I ignored her. God, they probably think I'm drunk. If they searched my purse... well I could just say I was prescribed all those pills. Mom would vouch. I had nothing else, that I was aware of. No weed, no heroin, no coke. No alcohol. Yeah, I would be fine. "Thanks. Bye." I turned around and floated down the hallway, forgetting the incident quickly. I floated into English, when a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned sharply. Ichigo was looking down at me.

"Hey, I saw you fall on Renji. Are you ok?" He was looking right into my eyes and he frowned.

"Sure. I just lost my footing."

"You were standing still."

"Then I must have fainted."

"Oh."

"Thanks." I moved out of his hold and he followed me into the classroom. A young, pretty woman was marking down an assignment on the board, her petite glasses perched on her dainty nose. There didn't appear to be a seating plan so I sat down at the back before everyone else could claim it. I put my head down and floated and slept for most of the class, hallucinating the slightest bit. I woke with a start when the bell rang, and by that time I said _fuck it_, called Okita, and went to go see her.

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I wasn't even four blocks from the school when I decided to cut across the park, and then beyond the park it would only be like, four blocks from the theatre. It was empty, with everyone back to school and working. It was nice to walk across the cool grass. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot until I got to the road, then put them back on and crossed the street. I was at Okita's in ten minutes, and I walked in and she was sitting on the couch, her hair knotted up at the base of her neck and wearing a grey t shirt and black shorts, knee-high socks. Next to her was a skinny, tall man with a shaved head, a blonde stubble and one of his teeth knocked out. They both looked at me.

"Dante!" Okita said, smiling widely. She looked cracked out. "Come in!" I kicked off my shoes and padded across the carpet, sitting down on the loveseat again. "This is Chase. Chase, this is Dante."

"Hey, Dante." The man grinned. He looked like a skinhead. Those kinds of guys often made me crazy; I loved the bad boys, with a passion. I smiled at him.

"So, got sick of school already?" Okita asked. I nodded.

"Yeah."

"If you drop out, you can make money by helping me." I looked at her, surprised. We had talked about me helping her deal, and I guess it was a go.

"Really? Okita, that would be great!"

"Yeah? Good. Here." She tossed me a gram of heroin. "Go in the bathroom, though. You'll probably throw up on it." She gave me a syringe, a bent spoon and tubing, and I bounced into the washroom and shut the door. I dimly heard Chase say "nice ass" and I guess he was talking about me, which made my mood heighten more. I sat down cross-legged on the fancy-tiled washroom with the light flickering overhead, cooked, t-eed, shot up. The plushie was balanced on my knee. The sunlight shone through the window.

God, so high, so high... high... as... the... sky...?

No. Something was wrong. Wait, everything was ok. After all, didn't they say that death was the greatest high of all? I was falling, falling through the floor and through the earth and my coffin lid sealed over me, or was that someone standing over me?

I slipped into the darkness.


	5. Dark Like Water

**disclaimer: i do not own bleach, its characters, plot, etc.**

**A/U: for your information, dante ODed in the last chapter. **

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When I was fifteen, I had attempted suicide. There was no reason, no rhyme, no purpose. I was not trying to make a statement. I was not trying to prove anything. I had been told that people commited suicide to end the pain, not their life. I did it to end the life, because the highs and lows had become so much that I was destroying my mind, and I didn't want to see myself do it. So, getting the idea from numerous movies, I decided to run a steaming hot bath in our hotel room (at the time), and slit my wrists with an industrial razor. Well, one of them. My tendons were so chewed up I couldn't put it across the other wrist. So I lay back and smoked a cigarette and waited for the black flowers to bloom. I closed my eyes and slipped away.

That metallic feeling of death creeps on you, slowly. And then, when you start to regret it, _bang--_ it bites you on the ass. I was in stars and in space, and underground in the grave. I thought the fires of hell were swallowing me, but really it was just the water. And the thickness of it was only caused by the amount of blood spouting from the one wrist. The cigarette filter was floating next to my feet. My toes looked very pale and small, and their reflections on the water were surreal.

And then mum came home early.

Anyways, that feeling of floating liquid metal and heat surrounding me was parallel to overdosing. I came out of that darkness, which I thought was death, with a snap. The light was dim in the room and my head was spinning and the only reason why I had awoken was because I was choking on my vomit. Someone turned me over with a grunt, and vomit splattered all onto the floor underneath me, rank smelling. I puked a few more times, and then I realized I was crying. My body hurt all over. I was rolled gently onto my back, and a cool hand smoothed my soaking hair from my forehead. I heard someone asking for mommy, and I realized it was me. I could barely remember who, what, or where I was, all I knew was that I had almost died. Maybe I had died. I heard several muffled voices above, sounding like they were talking through a pillow. My ears were ringing. My throat was so dry it hurt too breathe. Someone lifted my head and tipped cool water down my throat. It slid like an angel's finger.

"There ya go." Someone said next to my ear, a female voice. I was hoisted up by my armpits into a sitting position, and I leaned against a pillow, hiccuping, groaning. My eyes came into focus slowly. Three people were staring at me. One was a black woman, astonishingly beautiful, with cat-like gold eyes and purple-black hair, another a strangely-dressed blonde man that looked a little like Kurt Cobain, and a strange character wearing a ninja costume, sitting cross-legged at the foot of my cot.

"Huh." I said, breath shrieking in my nostrils. "What."

"If you can talk, say something." The blonde man asked.

"Something." I said stupidly, my voice sounding slow. My brain was trying to piece together what happened, but that was hard. Needle. Light. Someone. Flight. Air. Red hair. Renji? School. _Okita_. "Oh shit."

"I'm sure you're aware, that you've overdosed on heroin." the blonde man said. "You've been here for two days. We were going to take you to the hospital."

"Why didn't you?" I whispered. "Where am I?"

"You're not in a hospital because Nova didn't want you too."

"Nova?" Blonde-guy pointed to ninja, who zipped up his hood, so I couldn't see him at all.

"To answer your other question, you're at the Urahara Shoten. I, myself, am Urahara Kisuke, the owner. That is Shihouin Yoruichi," he pointed to the yellow-eyed woman. "We saved your life."

"Are... are you going to the call the cops?"

"Nope. Although, you're damn lucky you're alive."

"Where's my phone?"

"Here." Kisuke passed me my purse, and with some difficulty, I managed to get my fingers to unzip it. The turtle was gone. I picked up my phone. It was almost dead. There were no calls from my mom, although a few from Uncle Eli. One from the school. It died in my hand. I put it away.

"Thank you." I whispered. "I'll go now."

"What? Oh no, lady, you need to rest for a few days. Do you got family I can call?" I was quiet for a moment. I shook my head.

"Don't bother." I couldn't move my legs. Icy cold fear gripped me. "Am I paralyzed?"

"No, you're just stoned. Here." He passed me a cup of hot tea, and I sipped it. It burned my tongue but tasted wonderful.

"I'm... I'm so sorry."

"Why? Oh, it's okay. Although, it's not everyday Nova shows up with an ODing girl in his arms." That brought up another question.

"How did I get here?" Kisuke was quiet for a moment, and then he smiled for the first time.

"Sleep. I'll explain when you're in your right mind." I obeyed. Nova stayed at the foot of my bed. I stared at him.

"Are you just going to sit there?" I asked.

"Yes." he had not unzipped his hood.

"Did you bring me here?" he nodded. "You saved me." he nodded again. "Man of few words?" Nod again. "Thank you."

"Your welcome, Dante."

"Are you... are you the turtle?" he looked in my general direction.

"Yes." he said, after a moment. "How did you guess?"

"I had an idea. That something wasn't right." I fell asleep. I didn't mind him sitting there. I felt safer.

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I woke up several hours later, feeling much better and much more on my feet then before. Nova was still there. I looked at him and he looked at me, and for a moment I guess he didn't realize that I was awake, and then he blinked those astonishing teal eyes and straightened. "You're awake."

"Yeah. Hey... can you pass me my bag, please?" He did so. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a lighter. My hand was still shaking bad so I had to try again a few times, and I inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. "So. You're the turtle." he nodded. "How is that possible?"

"Perhaps Kisuke-kun is the one to explain." he said. "Don't talk too much, though."

"I'm fine." My voice was clearer, stronger. I couldn't exactly walk yet, like I hadn't even tried, but I felt much better. Alive, even. I looked to the small window on the wall, and couldn't tell if it was sunrise or sunset. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past six in the morning."

"You've been sitting here all this time?"

"Well, sort of." he said, and zipped up his hood and went quiet. I hefted myself up to sit better. Then, I got a surprise. In through the door came Kisuke, and the last person I would have thought-- Ichigo. We stared at each other for a moment.

"You two know each other?" Kisuke asked, picking up on the silence fast. Ichigo nodded.

"Yeah. She goes to my school." he said, softly.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad to see you look much better, Dante." I nodded. "And I suppose you would want some explanations?"

"Well, yeah."

"Dante, when you overdosed, Nova happened to be visiting Okita--"

"I already know he's the turtle." I cut him off, flatly. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah. Right." Kisuke snapped out a fan and fanned himself idly. "Well. I guess I'm going to have to tell you everything then, won't I?"

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"You're insane." I said, and tried to get up, and fell right back down. Nova caught me. "Get off!" I snapped, and he wrestled me back down onto the bed. Kisuke sighed, and poked me in the forehead with his cane.

"No, I am not insane, although it probably sounds crazy to you. However, we think heroin is insane, so touche there, darling." I grimaced and glared for a moment, and sipped my tea.

"So. What you're saying, is that Nova is a mod-soul. Hollows eat souls. Shinigami kill them. There's an entire fucking society of them. And no one's ever noticed, or documented it."

"You can't see them. Unless the human has come into very close contact with them, which is what has happened to you."

"I want some proof."

"Oh, you'll see it soon enough. Now, Nova went to your house and got some fresh clothes for you, because your school clothes are all covered in vomit and they are just quite dirty. And don't worry about Okita," he said, as if reading my mind, as I had just been thinking about her-- "We've wiped out her memory. She thinks you fell asleep in the bathroom and she drove you home."

"Great." I looked at Nova. "You went into my stuff?" he zipped his hood up and nodded.

"He's a little shy." Ichigo said at my right side. "You'll get used to it."

"Oh yeah. So, um, can I go home now? My mom... wait, Nova, did you see my mom?" he nodded, after hesitating for a moment. "What was she doing."

"I'd rather not say here." I figured she was doing something bad, so I nodded.

"Was she looking for me."

"No."

"Well," I said, hoping I didn't look as hurt as I felt. I shakily got to my feet. Nova rose with me, all swiftness and grace. "Thank you very much, Mr Urahara." he rose and shook my hand.

"Don't worry, Dante. We'll be seeing a lot of each other. Nova's decided to stay with you to make sure no... complications arise."

"Complications?" I repeated, raising a brow. He nodded. I wanted him to explain, but he shooed us out the door. The early morning sunlight was bright and it stung my eyes, and I dug around in my purse until I found my glasses. "Shit, where are those clothes?" I was still in my crusty uniform. Nova produced them out of seemingly thin air, and we walked to a nearby restaurant, and Nova waited on the roof (!!) and I quickly changed in the washroom. He had grabbed grey sweatpants and a black, fitted hoodie. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked fine, if a little green around the gills, and huge bags hung under my eyes, and I was a fucking ugly mess without make up. I was too tired to put any on, though.

I got outside, and Nova suddenly appeared at my arm.

"You look ill. I'll take you home." He picked me up gently, and I squipped a little, wrapping one arm around his strong neck. He leapt into the air and all the breath left me as my stomach rose and fell with each ascent and descent. We shot across rooftops and I closed my eyes and then suddenly we stopped. I opened my eyes and we were standing in the backyard of my home, outside my window. It was halfway open.

"Jesus." I whispered hoarsely as he gently laid me on my feet. I raked a hand through my windswept hair. "Th-thank you. I guess." My legs were still a little jellied, and Nova nodded, looking down at the ground. There was a moment of silence. A cold wind blew across the lawn. I shivered, folding my arms tightly. My greasy hair plastered itself against my dirty cheek. "You saved my life, didn't you?" He nodded. "Have you been watching me, all this time?" I said, a feeling like my entire body was turning to ice overcoming me. He didn't do anything for a moment, just nodded, turning to look at me. "Oh, Jesus. You saw all that." I looked away, cheeks burning. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you just leave, man?"

"I had a feeling you were going to hurt yourself. So I stuck around." Byfar, the longest sentence he had said so far.

"I can't believe this. Let's go inside. It's fucking freezing." I squirmed in through the window, landing easily on my feet. Nova followed me. "Wait, let me go find mom." I walked out and down to mom's room, opening the door. She was lying on the bed with a skinny guy. Holy fuck. "_Chase?!_" I said, shocked. The guy who had said I had a nice ass leapt up, shocked.

"DANTE!" he said, surprised. Mom looked up, hair amuss. She smiled.

"Baby, where you been? Chase said you were staying at Okita's 'cause it was closer to school!" I glared at Chase.

"Thanks for your concern." I said, slamming the door. Mom was _high_. It looked like a crack pipe was festering on the bedside table. My throat clenched. When mom smoked crack, it was best to clear the building until the binge ended. I stormed into my room. Nova was standing by the window. "The fuck are you looking at?" he looked down. "I'm going for a shower."

After my scalding shower, I was clean and fresh and feeling a lot better. Me and Nova sat on the bed and played cards. I taught him how to play poker. I managed to coax out him some more info about the Soul Society. Apparently now I would see hollows. God, I was part of this little crew, now. Nova said I would meet the others soon. Who the "others" were I didn't know. I still wondered if I was fucking crazy. Maybe this was hell. But it felt real. It had to be real.

Mom interrupted a small talk by knocking on the door. I jumped, not expecting her. I had managed to convince Nova that marijuana was okay and I wouldn't die, and I upsetted some tidbits of weed and they fell over the bed and on my legs. Frowning, I looked at the door.

"What?" I barked.

"You got some guy here to see you. Don't know who it is." I groaned and got off the bed, placing the half-rolled joint down.

"Stay here." I said grumpily, and Nova nodded once. I walked out of the room and down the hall. Mom was already disappearing back into her bedroom. My feet padded silently on the hallway carpet, and she turned to look at me, and I ghosted to a stop. "Huh?" Her lower lip was bleeding a tiny bit. Her fresh blisters had split open.

"You know," her voice was high pitched and had a nasal quality to it, like Okita's-- just more unpleasant. Her razor-stubbled legs looked pale and unnatural in the hallway light. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke directly into my face, a nervous twitch underneath her left eye. "Chase wanted to fuck you. Pretty bad. Did you sleep with him?"

"_What? _No!" I said, completely offended. "Mom, don't ask me questions like that! Get the fuck in the room before you embarass me."

"We'll talk about this later." she said, and slammed the door in my face. I kicked it for good measure, now very angry. I stormed to the front door and opened it wide, and behind the screen door was Kurosaki Ichigo, looking a little out of place and nervous, hands shoved in his pockets and scowling at something above my head, like at the lamp or something.

"Hey." he said.

"Hello." I opened the screen door. "You wanna come in?" he nodded and stepped inside, letting the door clatter shut behind him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked slowly, as if the words sounded strange coming out of his mouth.

"Sick and tired. What are you doing here?"

"Urahara sent me to make sure you and Nova got back okay."

"Well, I'm fine." We stood awkwardly for a moment, until I remembered my manners. "You want a drink or something?"

"Sure."

"Like what?" I beckoned him over to mom's liquor cabinet, which had been set up sometime while I was gone. God, it felt so _weird_, I had really been gone almost three whole days and mom didn't even know or care where I was, and although I'm sure there are hundreds of kids in the world who wished their parents were like that, it really wasn't good at all. I was _jealous_, I realized, of kids who had parents who gave them curfews and rules. I ran around like a fucking animal out of its cage. Look where it got me. Now I was stuck in the middle of something that would probably change my life forever. My palms began to sweat. My stomach clenched. _Here they come_.

"Um, just water will be nice?"

"Oh, you don't drink-drink?"

"Nah." he shrugged. I shrugged too, poured some vodka and bacardi into a crystal glass, and beckoned him into the kitchen. I got him a tall glass of water from the tap, put in some cream into my liquor and stirred myself a strong white Russian.

"Wanna see Nova?" I asked, and he nodded. I quickly pushed him past mom's room so he wouldn't hear or smell or see anything he shouldn't see. I was kind of regretting letting him inside; I should have made him wait outside, but I always had mom's polite etiquette manners, no matter how drunk or high I was. Or maybe it was dad's side. I opened the door and Nova looked up, not looking surprised at all at the newcomer.

"Hey, Nova. Urahara sent me to check in on you guys."

"We are perfectly alright, Kurosaki-san. Thank you."

"Good." he sipped his water, obviously uncomfortable, staring at the weed on the bed.

"Yeah... I have a headache. Don't rat me out, yeah?" I attempted a smile and he smiled back.

"Yeah, I won't say anything." He graciously refused my offer. I was sitting down on the bed sealing it up when I asked Ichigo a question.

"Hey, Ichigo,"

"Yeah."

"What's it like to be a soul reaper?" I asked. Despite myself, I was interested, and at least it would distract me from the whole heroin withdrawal, which was giving me killer cramps and it felt like I was going to keel over and vomit any second now. I lay down instead, suddenly exhausted. I sparked up my joint and listened to him tell of several small adventures, and then he told me about hollows-- more then what Kisuke had said, who had basically just outlined the entire thing for me.

"You'll have to watch your back, Corleone-san."

"Please, call me Dante, none of this Corleone shit." I said, feeling annoyed, although I was high by then and the cramps and buzzing in my head wasn't so bad. "Why do I have to watch my back?"

"Well, everyone who's gotten close to one of us soul reapers or mod-souls, manifested some pretty trippy stuff." I looked at him, frowning.

"What are you talking about? Am I going to start seeing angels and demons now or something?"

"No, probably not. You'll see... hey, are you coming to school on Thursday?" I shrugged.

"Probably." _Not._

"You'll meet everyone then. You'll understand better," he stood up. He had seated himself cross-legged on the floor, a respectful distance away, balancing the water between his legs. "I gotta run though. Uh, see you guys later." I led him out, waved him good-bye, and then walked back to the room and completed my session. I was so high I could barely walk, and Nova got off the bed as I stretched out on top of it. I don't know what he did after I fell asleep and I didn't care, everything was fine now. Everything's alright, once you're high.


End file.
